NOTE: That Typhoon2 also has an entire asphyx secton of images and videos in >>

Last night I condemned a girl to hang.

I’d never even met her, apart from virtually on Messenger systems over the Net. I had only a limited idea of what she looked like – just a hint here and there – and very little knowledge of her personal habits, her day-to-day routines, the sort of thing that people learn about each other when they chat for hours on end. I was not even in the same country as her. Yet I had caused her to strangle at the end of a rope just as if I was in the same room and placed the noose about her throat myself.

We had encountered each other on one of the fetish Groups that focused on the erotic aspect of women being hanged. I no longer remember who contacted whom first, but we’d spent long hours exchanging digital images of our favourite scenes, explaining why they were so arousing or where they could be improved. I knew so little of her but I knew her dream – to hang by the neck until dead. She had her own noose at home, had played with it on many occasions, delighting in the caress of the fibres against her body and imagining it strangling her as she dangled from her staircase. The thrill of knowing that she could die like that was an enormous turn-on as she told me every time we chatted. I warned her of the dangers of solo play and she understood; she wanted some one to bind her and noose her, taking away her choice in the matter, I warned her that an amateur hangman (or woman) could make a mistake, that she could die whilst playing. She understood that as well, but that was the attraction. Her life was in the hands of others. She was the not the first that I had encountered with this desire. I had hanged two girls previously, and they willingly, nay lovingly, had offered themselves up to me for erotic strangulation in the noose., time and time again.

It was that drive of submission that led the girl and I to play games of Hangman – a childish throw-back of trying to find the most fiendishly complicated word or to guess its composition. She was good and won most games. Her avowed intent was to hang should she lose, but of course she never did. Until last night…

She demanded before we started what the terms were. Her suggestion was that if she lost she would phone her hangwoman contact and submit herself totally. Even the thought filled her with a mixture of dread and arousal. I agreed. But of course she would win the game and it would be irrelevant. She duly won the first round and was confident enough to challenge me to best of three. Since I was at no risk I was happy to accept. I won the second game and things changed. She was a little more thoughtful in her guesses, expressed greater shock when she guessed wrong and confirmed several times the exact terms of a loss. She would always demand of me any decisions on detail since I was a hangman myself, and it was the hangman’s privilege, but it was very much her idea to call upon the hangwoman should she lose and submit to her fate, whatever it should be.

The final letter chosen was almost an anticlimax. It was wrong, I said as much and the dreadful implications were left hanging in cyberspace. ‘You want me to call the hangwoman?’ she asked. If text on a computer screen could be whispered, I am sure it would have been. I wanted to tell her that there was no need to call her, that we could play more games or that some other small forfeit would suffice. But I wanted her to hang and I knew that she wanted it too. I insisted that the agreed rules of the game be fulfilled. She would call the hangwoman.

She expressed her growing anxiety over the next few minutes, mixed with increased arousal at the prospect. She sent me images of what she would look like soon, standing atop a chair or gasping for breath in a tight noose, generic images that were scattered all over the Net but which now had far greater impact. Those that I had sent her during previous chats always aroused her incredibly, and that had led her to the path of waiting for a woman to call at her house and hang her. The she sent a message stating that the doorbell was ringing. I heard nothing more from her for the rest for the night…

The next message came from the hangwoman, introducing herself in a matter-of-fact tone. It was as if she was making conversation while waiting for the girl to join to rejoin us. We swapped pleasantries and then details emerged – the girl was preparing herself, the noose was being fixed to the stairwell, the girl’s hands were being tied. I was asked whether the gallows should be a chair or low stool. I chose the stool since that had been a favoured choice when the girl and I had chatted previously. The hangwoman’s stance was becoming apparent now – ‘The little slut is crying now’ she said. ‘She deserves the noose.’

I asked the hangwoman to tell her to be brave, that it would be over soon. It was all I could think of to reassure her. I wanted to be there to hold her in my arms yet I could only communicate through a stranger and a keyboard. The hangwoman informed me that she was now upon the stool and should the slut be allowed to live? If it was an act it was a perfect one. I believed this woman when she indicated that she was prepared to go all the way – the girl had told me many times that it was this commitment that made her the ideal choice to hang her. All the same I found it difficult to take in – the girl that I had been joking and flirting with all evening was now standing on an improvised gallows.

The next message was even more chilling: the noose was now applied around her neck and she had been pulled onto her toes. The slut was still crying and whimpering, begging to be untied. Should the stool be kicked away? Her fate was in my hands! This was happening all too fast – while my fingers tapped away at the keyboard my online companion was helplessly waiting to hang. I knew that this was what she wanted, more than anything in the world. I asked for how long would she be hanged? ‘I don’t know’ came the response. ‘I haven’t decided yet. The little slut wanted to hang so why not let her? She’s horny as hell so she must be loving it, even if she is crying’.

I couldn’t believe the callous words that appeared on my screen. In fantasies I was a merciless hangman, hanging girls without a thought, stifling their protests with a tightening noose, but in reality I was ever-attentive, taking them down if they wanted, comforting them always, making it a beautiful experience. I had never left a terrified girl on the gallows while I casually discussed her fate online with a stranger! Yet all I could bring myself to do as to beg that she be hanged just until she came, so that she could enjoy the experience now and again in the future. Selfishly, I wanted her for myself, not to be the plaything of this cruel woman in a distant land.

‘She will hang for thirty seconds’ came the response. Then silence. The Messenger system said that the next message arrived about a minute and half later, and simply said ‘She has been hanged’. No details. No follow up. No ‘X is typing a message…’ to give some indication that there was more. Just ‘She has been hanged’…

Time stood still. I could barely breathe myself as I waited for more news. Not even when I was hanging girls myself had the tension been so great. At least then I was busy but now all I could do was wait. Was she dead? Was she hurt? Did she really hang or was it part of an elaborate act, and that the two of the were laughing at the thought of me at the end of the internet connection waiting? The Messenger system stirred to life…

‘She has been untied and is recovering on the floor. She was unconscious briefly but is okay now. I will take her to bed’. The relief was draining – I sagged in the desk chair, barely able to even thank the hangwoman for the news.

The hangwoman returned and gave me details. She had hanged the girl for the half minute; she’d fought as she hanged and blacked out before the time was up. She was now sore and tired and had been put to bed to recover. She would be fine. The hangwoman was leaving now.

I had to ask, ‘Did she enjoy it? Did she have the orgasm that she craved?’. Her increasingly-nervous messages, the terror described to me, my vivid imagination painting a picture of the girl on the gallows made me imagine torment that was beyond anything that I had ever experienced myself, but was it worth it to the girl?

The hangwoman inserted a smiley emoticon. ‘Oh yes – she had the best orgasm of her life.’ and logged off.